Brave
by Adam Shmadam
Summary: Alternative to the last 15 mins. of 10.6, and continuing from there.
1. Chapter 1

_Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. _It's been his mantra of the last few hours. First, it was his desperate plea to Ruth, but now it's the only thing keeping him from completely falling apart. It's an old anti-interrogation technique, and he slipped into it out of worn-out habit. His eyes fixed on the doorway, counting his breaths. It prevents him from thinking too much; of what he will be without her…He wrenches his mind back. _Come on, Ruth, breathe. With Me. In and out._ He's only tangentially aware of his surroundings; the surprised looks and hushed whispers. Someone places a steaming cup beside him, but he doesn't move. His future rests on whatever comes over that threshold.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Calum gives him space, but not too much. He's not sure what he can do in any case – he doubts he can prevent Harry from doing something monumentally stupid if he chose to. If Ruth dies for keeps this time, he has absolutely no doubt that Harry will rip young Gavrik's throat out with his bare hands. And he couldn't in all conscience blame him. But trying to keep him out of the CIA's way is well-nigh impossible. As it is, they shouldn't be here. Ruth's in capable hands, and they need to get away, now. It's only a matter of time before the cousins put two and two together, and he doubts that they could get away with stealing Harry back a second time. His suggestion to that effect was met with murderous eyes. So, they sit and wait, and he hopes to hell that Ruth pulls through for all of their sakes.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"You can't be serious, Home Secretary."

"I assure you that I am. Sasha Gavrik is to be handed over…"

Erin interrupted.

"…I can't let that happen, Home Secretary. Ilya Gavrik just killed his wife with his bare hands. He may have diplomatic immunity, but his son most certainly does not. If Ruth dies, it will be because of Sasha."

"Where are they?"

Here Erin faltered. Not so very long ago, her career ladder-scaling self would not have any qualms about divulging this information, but somehow the image of Harry, pleading and covered in Ruth's blood, would not leave her. _There, but for the grace of God, go I._

"I'm sorry, Home Secretary, I'm losing my signal."

And she shut off her phone, with perhaps a little more force than strictly necessary.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

An impossibly young but exhausted looking surgeon places a small shard of glass, barely bigger than a fingernail, in his palm.

"This was still in there, which is why we couldn't stop the bleeding at first."

"She's OK?" he asks, his voice low and slightly hoarse, as if the sound would burst this fragile bubble of hope that is forming, unbidden.

"She's on a ventilator, and she lost a lot of blood, but she's stabilized now. Barring any unforeseen complications, there's no reason that why she can't make a full recovery, in time."

He's numb to anything, not entirely convinced that this is not some cruel dream. He'll wake up and she'll be dead, and it will be as much his fault as if he stabbed her himself. It is only when Calum claps him heartily on the back does he start to think that maybe all of this is really happening. That she will live, and maybe he can, too.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note: Thank you for all the wonderful support…I'm very sorry it's taken me so long to get some more fic going…I haven't given up on "No Ordinary Grief", it's just that it's turning out very difficult to write (for obvious reasons)! I'm going to try to be a bit more reliable in updating this story, and another I have in the works, but I will be on vacation next week, so please bear with me…I would love reviews – good or bad!**

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

_We're not out of the woods yet, _thought Calum, although he was as relieved as anyone that Ruth's prognosis was good. But he would feel infinitely better if he could be back at Thames House doing something productive to get Harry out of the CIA's sights. He was never very good at sitting around and waiting. He re-entered the waiting room, and felt a jolt of panic when Harry wasn't there. Quelling the rising anxiety, he followed the short corridor to the gents.

"Harry?"

"I'm here."

The spook in question stood in front of a sink, head bowed and water dripping from his face.

"I've got you a shirt."

"Thank you."

He tried not to stare at the numerous scars on Harry's chest that told of a lifetime of defense of the realm as he changed into the crisp new shirt.

"Harry…"

"I'm not leaving her…never again."

"But…"

"Calum, please. I need you to get me a clean phone, and then get back to London right away. Tell Erin to initiate Kestrel."

The glint in his boss' eye did not bode well for the cousins, Calum mused.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

He thought he knew what to expect, but as he entered the room, he was nearly overcome with tears, again. She seemed so small and pale in that bed, surrounded by machines with a tube down her throat. _She's alive_, he reminded himself. He gently grasped her hand; he was surprised at how cold her fingers were.

"I'm here, Ruth," he whispered, as he sat beside the bed.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"You're not doing her any favours, you know," a nurse said as she put a tray down beside him.

Until she spoke, he had no inkling of her presence, so intent was he on the sleeping form beside him.

"You need to eat, drink. Keep your strength up. Need to be at your best when she wakes up."

"I suppose you're right."

"Of course I am. Didn't you know nurses are always right?"

She got a smile out of him with that.

"Thank you," he said, sincerely.

It wasn't too much later that one of the machines attached to Ruth started beeping persistently. Within seconds, a doctor and a flock of nurses swarmed into the room and Harry found himself pushed off to the side.

"Sir, you're going to have to leave."

"Is she going to be alright?"

"NOW!"

The nurse that had brought him sandwiches earlier led him out into the corridor. She shook him gently by the shoulders until he met her eye.

"Don't worry. She's going to be fine. They just need to take the ventilator out."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The first thing she became aware of was a burning in her throat, followed quickly by a dull, continual pain in her side. As much as she wanted to move, she found that her limbs felt like lead. She tried desperately to remember what had happened, but nothing made sense. Disjointed impressions, more like half-remembered dreams were all that she had. _ A glint of something in the sunlight. The smell of sea air. A gunshot. Harry's voice, soft and pleading, always present. Trepidation mixed with relief. Sadness and regret. _

The second thing she could feel was something beside her, up against her right hip. Without opening her eyes (her eyelids still felt unbelievably heavy), she slowly and tentatively moved her hand towards her right side. Her fingers encountered something unyielding but warm. With a great deal of effort, she opened her eyes, as the mystery object in question shifted slightly under her touch. She was rewarded with the sight of Harry, sleeping deeply; his body slumped over, somewhat uncomfortably, with his head on the mattress beside her. Her fingers had come to rest in his hair at the back of his head.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's note: Thank you all for the kind reviews! This is likely to be the last update for at least a week - I'll be on vacation with no computer access. This one is not terribly long, but I didn't want to leave the reunion hanging any longer…

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

It's not terribly romantic, she thinks, but the solidity of his skull underneath her fingers is reassuring. He is safe, whatever happened. She has a momentary pang of worry for the others, but somehow she knows that they are safe as well. There is very little of Dimitri, Erin, or Calum in the tangle of her disjointed memories. Unconsciously, her fingers gently stroke his hair.

It takes a long time for Harry to realize that he's not dreaming, and a few seconds more to remember where he is, and more importantly whom he is with. Fingers, soft and tender, move back and forth ever so slowly through his hair, and he's now working hard to keep his breathing deep and even. His lower back protests greatly at his current posture, and as much as he would like to lay under her caresses forever, he needs to move. With a sigh, he stretches and sits upright.

Her eyes seem even bluer than he remembered, and a lump in his throat rises at the thought of how very close he was to never seeing those eyes again. Her hand, which stayed in contact with him as he sat up, now rests on his cheek. They stare at each other for a long time, neither saying a word, just drinking in the sight of one another.

"You need a shave," she says, a little hoarsely, and gives him a sleepy smile.

He smiles back.

"I suppose so," he answers, with a soft chuckle.

"What happened, Harry?"

"What do you remember?"

She knits her brows, concentrating.

"I don't know, really. Everything's so jumbled."

For only a split second, she sees a look of something like disappointment cross his face.

"Well, no doubt it'll come back to you…eventually."

"That doesn't answer my question, Harry."

He sighed heavily, and she could tell that being the master spook that he was, he was weighing exactly how much he should reveal.

"You were stabbed, by Sasha Gavrik. Your lung collapsed and your heart stopped. Dimitri found some adrenaline, and that brought you back…"

He swallowed hard before continuing, shakily,

"You arrested again on the way here…I don't know how…"

Closing his eyes, he turns his head and presses a kiss to her wrist.

"Oh, Harry. I'm so s-"

"Don't…please. Don't apologise when I'm the one that almost got you killed."

She feels the coarseness of his stubble under her thumb as she softly strokes his cheek. It is an intimate gesture, uncommon between them, but seems to be the most natural thing in the world. Before she can think any more on this, Harry brings her back to world of practicality.

"How are you feeling? Can I get you anything?"

She nods, slightly.

"Not too badly, considering. Water would be nice."

"I'll go and get some. The doctors will want to know you're awake."

He stands up quickly and kisses her lightly on the forehead before she can fully process his movements. Once he shuts the door behind him, he leans against it, his cheek tingling and plans racing through his mind.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Thank you all for the wonderful reviews! I had a lovely holiday, but now I am faced with the reality of work, yard work, children, grocery shopping, etc., etc! I promise I will try to update this as promptly as I can. I'm very sorry for the delay for this – I had a chapter written but it didn't seem right, so I scrapped the whole thing and started again…

She woke, slowly and gingerly. The pain in her side was sharper and more persistent than it had been, and she had to reluctantly concede that maybe the doctor and Harry had been right, although she was determined to not admit as much if she could help it. Languidly opening her eyes, she saw the small bedroom for the first time in daylight. The room was cheery enough, with sun filtering through the partially open curtains and a few non-descript pictures on the walls. She could hear faint movements coming from the other room, but before her sleep-fogged brain could differentiate the specific sounds, their source entered the room.

"Hi."

The tray he placed beside her was laden with enough food to feed a small army.

"I bet you could use some of these," he said as he handed her a small bottle of pills.

She nodded, took the painkillers gratefully, and then observed her companion.

Harry had showered and shaved, as evidenced by his damp hair and lack of stubble, but he seemed exhausted and not altogether pleased.

"This was my idea, Harry."

He sighed.

"I know. I just wish there was another way. If there is any sign of infection, you're going back to hospital, no arguments. Understood?"

She nodded.

"Good. Now eat up. I hope you like omelets, because that's one of the few things I can cook."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The sleek black car slows down and stops just long enough for Erin Watts to situate herself in the back seat before slowly gliding towards the Russian Embassy.

"Harry is out of the way for a few days in case Gavrik doesn't cooperate, Home Secretary."

"How will you get Ilya to confess to the CIA that Elena and her group killed Jim Coaver? I would have thought that would be the last thing he'd do – his life in Russia will be very different when word got out that he was married to a double agent."

"We threaten to keep Sasha in Britain for Ruth's murder if he doesn't."

Towers looks askance, incredulous, although at this point he believes he should expect nothing less from Harry Pearce and Section D.

"But she's still very much alive," he argues.

"Neither Gavrik knows that."

"What if the CIA doesn't believe Ilya? Why should they?"

"Calum's working on getting evidence. Apparently, some of the ancient recording equipment in that bunker is still operational; so we might be able to offer them Elena's confession in her own words. The CIA couldn't argue with that, no matter how much they'd like to string Harry up."

"Where _is_ Harry?"

"In the country."

He knew there was no pint in pressing for more specifics.

"No doubt that will change if we can't call off the cousins, eh? Never mind. Send Ruth my love when you get a chance, will you?"

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

She looked up from her book and considered Harry carefully. All morning he had been solicitous to her, but there was an awkwardness to their interactions. _Old habits die_ _hard_, she thought wryly. She wished he would sit beside her so she could touch him again, as she did when she woke in hospital. Instead, he paced and fidgeted and puttered.

It was early in the evening, when tired of reading, she ventured to explore the little safe house, shuffling along slowly, testing the strength of her legs. Locating her phone in a small pile of her possessions from the hospital, she was scrolling through her messages, when she suddenly and with a little moan, sat down rather forcefully, causing Harry to bolt to her side.

"Ruth?"

"What's the date today?"

"The 26th. Why?"

Seeing that he looked very concerned, she tried to reassure him.

"I'm fine, Harry. Really. It's just with everything that's happened, I've managed to miss out on that house in Suffolk."

"The one with the green door?"

She thought back to their conversation by the river, when she thought she would probably never see Harry again. Her recent memory may be a little rusty, but she knows she didn't tell Harry, or anyone else for that matter, about the door. She looked up at him, but before she could ask anything further, he explained,

"You talked about the house…while we were waiting for the medivac…"

He looked so lost in that moment that she took his hand, and remembered.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's note: Thank you for the reviews! Sorry that this has taken so long – I hit a bit of writer's block, compounded with craziness at my job. I have to say this one is not turning out how I originally intended, but I hope it doesn't disappoint!

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

When she takes his hand, again, he can hardly hear her say his name over the pounding of his heart. Her eyes look at him with such tenderness, she renders him speechless. He takes a long breath and slowly bends down and kisses her softly. She responds to him, winding her arms around his neck, and his heart soars. He pulls away reluctantly when his phone, abandoned in the other room, starts ringing shrilly. As much as he would like to ignore it, it is impossible to do so. When she gives him a sympathetic smile, he wonders, for possibly the millionth time, what on earth she sees in such a broken down spook.

Leaning in the doorway, she unabashedly eavesdrops on Harry's end of the conversation, but his responses leave her none the wiser. What she does know, however, based on the way his spine stiffens, is that whatever Dimitri is telling him (she has been able to glean that much) Harry is not altogether pleased. She realizes that the more he paces, the more incandescent his anger.

"Tomorrow, yes."

He rings off, and without meeting her eye, turns and begins to make some tea.

_This is it_, she thinks. _He's closing himself off, again. _She wonders if this is how life with Harry would be – constantly having to tear down barricades. Her body screams to embrace him, comfort him, but she knows that if this is going to work at all, he needs to meet her halfway.

For a long time the only sound is the kettle and the steady downpour of rain outside. He feels her eyes on him as he putters in the kitchen, taking refuge in everyday actions as he tries to control his emotions and plan what to do next. When he turns around to put the mugs on the table, he is a bit shocked to see her still standing there, so used is he to being alone. _This is it_, he thinks. _Whatever happens now, there is no going back._ Her eyes are equal parts love and worry, and whatever he was about to say leaves his head completely. In three long strides, he crosses the room to her and holds her, like a lifeline in a storm.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"The CIA isn't backing down."

She puts down her tea, which is quite cold, and immediately starts thinking. It's a look on her face that he's seen before, and it's reassuring.

"What about Ilya Gavrik?"

"Dimitri says he's leaving for Russia at the end of the week."

"And Sasha?"

"He's disowned his father, and wants nothing whatever to do with him. Apparently, he wants to stay in Britain." Harry's distaste for this last bit of intelligence was evident on his face.

"Who would turn his back on his own son?"

Harry couldn't help but think of Graham and how even in his darkest moments, he would never consider doing what Ilya was apparently about to do.

"Maybe he is not convinced by Elena's assertion of his paternity," Harry shrugged.

It was a few minutes before he spoke again.

"Ruth, if I have to run…"

"I'll be right there with you," Before he could protest, she continued,

"I'm not leaving you, Harry. Not again."

"But…"

"I do know what it's like to be on the run."

"I don't doubt you on that, Ruth." After all these years, it was still painful for him to think of her in exile. He took her hand, his eyes fixed on her fingers.

"I just want you," he continued, "to be happy."

"Then don't you dare leave without me. We're going to figure this out, Harry, I promise."


	6. Chapter 6

_**Author's note: I'm profusely sorry for the long time it has taken me to update this story. Real life is seriously hampering my writing plans, and this story has been particularly uncooperative in not going how/where I had originally intended...please, leave a review!**_

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

She leaned back in her chair, oddly content. She and Harry had just finished dinner, a meal cobbled together by the both of them with the random ingredients they had to hand. The pasta sauce had turned out surprisingly good, and they each joked that it was because of their particular contribution. The dinner conversation had started out as a discussion about where they would run to should the need arise (she had even started a small list, which no doubt would be burnt before the night was out), but soon had moved on to other topics. She could not help but think back to that memorable dinner years ago, when she had felt so nervous and awkward as they both tried to keep the conversation away from work. This time, she was determined to not let her fear and guilt rule her.

"What is it?" he asked, with some trepidation in his voice.

_Poor Harry. He's spent a lifetime always waiting for the other shoe to drop. _

"I was just thinking about Lucas."

Based on his expression, she would have been hard pressed to answer in some other way that would have surprised him more. She continued,

"Something he told me once."

She reached across the table and took his hand, stroking it gently with her thumb. They were silent for a few moments.

"What did he say?"

_Be brave, Ruth. _

"Just some advice he gave me."

It had been a risk bringing up Lucas at all, but she knew if she had prevaricated he would see through her. If this were going to work at all they would have to be honest with one another. He would never admit it, even to her, but she knew what had happened with Lucas was one of his great regrets, that he felt he could have somehow foreseen and prevented his officer's treachery.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

She had insisted on doing the washing up, which left him with nothing much to do except to sit and watch her. It was a domestic scene not so very different from but so much better than many he imagined often in the past, and the reality of it was almost too much for him to bear. His joy was tempered by the realization that if certain meetings did not go as planned tomorrow, they would be fugitives with a very difficult way ahead of them.

Her back was to him as she moved between sink and cupboards, and his gaze traveled slowly down her spine appreciatively. _She is quite beautiful_, he mused.

"Enjoying the view?" she asked.

"Immensely," he admitted with a grin.

His answer surprised her, since she was hardly dressed for seduction, having had to quickly grab whatever clothes were to hand when they hastily left the hospital in the wee hours of the morning. She put the last dish in the drainer, unstoppered the sink, and turned to meet his eyes. His gaze slowly turned serious again as they considered each other. He suddenly looked so very tired.

"Sleep with me tonight, Harry."

"Ruth…"

"When was the last time you slept?"

"Last night."

"I mean really sleeping and not just dozing in a chair. What is it, four or five days?"

She knew that the Americans would not let him sleep at all while in custody.

"Sleep, Harry. Whatever happens tomorrow is going to happen, whether you stay up tonight or not."

He seemed shellshocked, so she continued,

"You are dead on your feet, and I'm recovering from a collapsed lung. I don't think anything is going to happen tonight."

He grinned at that.

"I have to warn you that I have been known to steal the covers," he said with mock seriousness.

"What makes you think that I won't steal them right back?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

By the time she enters the bedroom, he is already in the bed, his eyes closed. A strange flutter fills her as the reality of the situation settles in. How long had she imagined this? Even during the warm nights in Cyprus she had sometimes thought about what sharing a bed with Harry would have been like. He opens his eyes at her hesitation on the threshold.

"I'll move to the couch."

"No, you won't," she replies as she quickly moves to the bed and climbs under the covers.

There is some awkwardness as they settle in, he very wary of not hurting her side. At length, they are comfortable, she leaning up against his chest and his arm resting lightly on her hip. For a long time, the only sounds that can be heard are the rain and wind which continues to pound the roof and windows. Gradually, she feels the tension in his muscles relax, but it is only when she feels his breathing become deep and regular does she let sleep claim her as well.


End file.
